He who has once been happy is for aye Out of destruction's reach. His fortune then Holds nothing secret; and Eternity, Which is a mystery to other men, Has like a woman given him its joy. Time is his conquest. Life, if it should fret. Has paid him tribute. He can bear to die, He who has once been happy! When I set The world before me and survey its range, Its mean ambitions, its scant fantasies, The shreds of pleasure which for lack of change Men wrap around them and call happiness, The poor delights which are the tale and sum Of the world's courage in its martyrdom; |